


Knitting London A Sweater

by Sodium_Azide



Series: The Angel Who Knits [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale in the Bastille, Coffee Shops, Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Felonious Senior Citizens, Fluff and Humor, Knitting, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Podfic Available, TBH this isn't really a kink so much as a huge weakness, Yarnbombing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodium_Azide/pseuds/Sodium_Azide
Summary: “My dear boy, I am so pleased to see you-I was just mentioning a little about you to my friends here. Do come and say hello.” Aziraphale, when he was enthusiastic, tended to forget that he was stronger than any mortal man. Aziraphale, in fact, did not even notice that Crowley was not actually walking with him but was skidding along on his heels, actually rigid in the short distance before being shoved into the lions’ den to be devoured. Or into the knitting circle to be assessed as a possible match for the angel and inevitably found wanting by a cadre of mortal women.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Angel Who Knits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828531
Comments: 83
Kudos: 281





	Knitting London A Sweater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Depressedstressedlemonzest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Depressedstressedlemonzest/gifts).



> Because 'zest is a sweetheart and welcomed me to this fandom so kindly.  
> Because 'zest also encouraged me to get a tumblr and then was my first follower.  
> Because there aren't enough fics with our adorable Aziraphale having hobbies that aren't reading.  
> And because we can never have enough fluffy confession fics, can we?  
> Now has fanart by [stilljustceci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilljustceci/pseuds/stilljustceci) available [here](https://twitter.com/ceci_demo/status/1284338346387480577?s=21).  
> A podfic of this work is linked at the bottom. Enjoy!

He hadn’t meant to do it. He’d toast his hand on a stack of bibles, swear to whoever, that he hadn’t meant to even be in the vicinity. Now it was all over. This was the end. 

“Oh, where are my manners, I have just been going on…”

“No, don’t be daft, he sounds so lovely. Just too good to be true. Have you tried my chocolate-dipped shortbreads? Do tell me if I ought to have used some more vanilla.”

“Oh, really? Thank you, I’m sure they’re marvelous. I assure you, he is. Crowley’s goodness and kindness are truly amazing. I can only try to live up to his example of courage and self-confidence. He had such a difficult start in life, and it has only made him even more of a treasure.”

“But you said you were in France, in terrible trouble. You scamp! What did you do?”

“Well, this was quite some time ago…”

“Oh, we won’t judge-we were all young once. Gladys has some stories that would make a priest cry.”

“Goodness! So, I was in prison, in Paris.”

“Oh, my, you rogue, what did you do?”

“The gendarmes did not like the look of me.”

“Oh, those villains! How dare they! With no due cause? At least it’s better now than it was in the old days. As much as I miss being younger, the police used to be just brutes.”

“So, as you can imagine from the slim excuse of my arrest and imprisonment, there was a near-certainty that I would not be given even a semblance of due process. The...man in charge of me, was positively snickering to himself about my fate, and that I deserved everything that was going to happen to me.”

Crowley was absolutely rigid, standing behind the lush leaves of an almost-acceptably verdant Draceana. All he had wanted was to pick up a gift of some of those fancy macarons with the inscrutably frou-frou fillings on the way to the angel’s bookshop. He had not anticipated his angel participating in an honest-to-Hell knitting circle of truly ancient tiny ladies, each appearing as fragile as tissue paper, but with needles positively blurring with speed, never dropping a stitch. 

Even while listening to an angel wax rhapsodic about Crowley’s feats of derring-do, apparently. What kind of establishment was this? What kind of bakery even allowed these kinds of lies to be told in front of innocent desserts? The fondant would never be the same.  
Unlike the ladies’ knitted stitches, (and Aziraphale, as prominent as he always was to the demon’s sight, was exceedingly visible as the only man-shaped being in the circle) Crowley had apparently missed at least part of the story. 

“...and there he was, lounging in his elegant way. It was only minutes after that that I walked out of that dank cell, free as a bird! And all thanks to Crowley, of course. He is far more wise to the ways of the world than I am, so very debonair, yet he never holds it against me.”

“Oh, how romantic! I’m sure you made it worth his while afterwards!”

The round of giggles were enough to make Crowley seriously consider snake form as he cringed in embarrassment. Sometimes one just needed to coil into an incomprehensible knot to deal with a certain level of self-consciousness, as having limbs was just too much trouble. Being a physical entity at all would be too much soon if the angel didn’t tone it down a bit. Could he escape without being seen? 

“Rose, I could only dream of being good enough for him to care about in that way. He is my dearest friend, better than I deserve by far. And thank you, Leanna, for the look on your face, but if you had ever seen Crowley, you would understand exactly what I meant. He is...infernally lovely. The most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I go too slowly for him, I am sure.”

In Crowley’s defense, he was, in his truest self, entirely legless. In retrospect it was entirely natural that in times of stress, that his knees would liquify. At this moment, he was less accepting about this limb dysfunction sending him to the floor, dropping him to the tile hard enough to make him wince. The table of university students beside him seemed startled, with one of them actually standing to help him. He glanced up after making sure his sunglasses were in place. Twenty year old kid, lying to his mother about his grades, working part-time to send money home, worried about his upcoming exam. Crowley waved his hand vaguely, standing on his own. Another little twitch of his fingers and a distant professor decided they would be adding a large extra-credit question based on the chapter the kid had studied most. The rest would be up to him. “Thanks, mate.” 

“Crowley?”

He had no plan. He hadn’t prepared. The angel had seen him. He was doomed.

“My dear boy, I am so pleased to see you-I was just mentioning a little about you to my friends here. Do come and say hello.” Aziraphale, when he was enthusiastic, tended to forget that he was stronger than any mortal man. Aziraphale, in fact, did not even notice that Crowley was not actually walking with him but was skidding along on his heels, actually rigid in the short distance before being shoved into the lions’ den to be devoured. Or into the knitting circle to be assessed as a possible match for the angel and inevitably found wanting by a cadre of mortal women. 

“Hello, dear ladies! This is my dearest Crowley. Crowley, these are my friends, the London Yarnbombers.”

That was absurd enough to thaw out the demon. “The...what?”

“Yarnbombers, lad.” Smirked a bright little biddy wearing a pile of shawls. “This town is gray enough as it is. It needs a bit of brightening. I don’t like the smell of spray paint, so yarn it is.”

Aziraphale squeezed his arm and wiggled happily. “We yarnbombers knit up things and then go out in the dark of night and decorate London. We are knitting sweaters for the trunks of the trees by the new roundabout. Last month, we made cozies for all of the streetlamps in that dreadfully run-down area on the east side.”

“Aziraphale is a valuable one-it did my old heart good to see the city folks failing to get those cozies off. He still won’t tell us how he got them that high.” Tittered the same voice as before. Rose, Crowley remembered vaguely. Nothing made sense. He was probably hallucinating. That was almost comforting, actually.

“So you all wander the streets at night, tucking London in for bed all cozy?”

Aziraphale giggled delightedly. “It’s so very clandestine. And it’s fun!”

The angel was just so damn cute it was hard to handle some days. Most days. All days.

“Angel, this is the weirdest hobby you’ve ever had, but it suits you. Show me the tree-sweaters. Do trees get cold? They must, I suppose. Everything gets cold. I get cold.”

“I know, dear boy. If I made you something would you wear it? I only refrained because of how stylish you are.” 

This was ridiculous. An angel of the Lord was offering to knit him a sweater. Of course he wanted it. “Tchah, angel. ‘Course.”

Only the cessation of sound clued Crowley in to the fact that the knitting needles had stopped clacking together. One little darling, ninety if she was a day, was big-eyed and clutching her hands to her chest as if she was watching a Hallmark movie finale. He cleared his throat and tried to give an insouciant grin. “Afternoon, ladies. Anthony J. Crowley. Sorry to interrupt the festivities.”

His grin froze into a rictus as the wave of feminine giggles resumed. Right, his doom. He had forgotten. “Oh, our Mr. Fell described you wonderfully.” rasped a waif of a pensioner with a lapful of striped yarn. “Handsome as the devil and just as charming.”  
Aziraphale exclaimed in protest next to him, but he didn’t remove his hand from Crowley’s arm. The next few minutes were a bit of a blur, but he vaguely was aware of helping the angel gather up his supplies, (why were so many different needles necessary?) and give some sort of farewell to his group of delinquent grannies. 

Somehow he got stuck holding the angel’s ludicrously huge satchel of truly ugly yarn and strange bits of paraphernalia. He had been watching humans knit for literally centuries, but never had the slightest interest in it, as it didn’t change much. Spin smelly animal hair into long strings, do fiddly things with bits of wood, and voila, clothing happened, slightly less smelly but just as uncomfortable. It had apparently evolved when he wasn’t paying attention. 

The angel was chattering happily to him as they walked. The Bentley was still parked a block behind them at this point, but she knew to follow them to the bookstore. She was a good girl. 

“Well, I would have to get your measurements, of course. For your sweater.”

“Angel. You know me. You’ve been me. You know how big I am.”

“Well, we would still need to sit down and discuss what you wanted and what colors you liked, and oh, you could come with me to the shop and we could pick what kind of yarn felt nice to you. Still, first things first, we can sit down at that lovely little coffee shop and...chat about what you would like for me to do for you.”

Crowley never knew, then, or much later, what gave him the courage to reach over and stop Aziraphale’s stroll, turning to look directly at him, or as much as he could while the angel’s gaze skittered about his general vicinity. Maybe it was the memory of the angel’s sweet voice as he praised Crowley to a scandalous extent, calling him lovely, calling him brave. He loved this idiot so much he thought it might actually kill him.

“Angel, are you asking me out for coffee?”

There was a long pause as Aziraphale’s fidgeting increased in tempo to the point where he seemed to nearly vibrate, then with a visible effort, he settled, swallowed, and with a violent blush painted across his cheeks, looked up to Crowley’s face. “Yes?”

He grinned once more. He was carrying an enormous bag of mismatched yarn, in public, and he was the happiest being in creation. “Tchah, angel.” he repeated. “‘course.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Knitting London A Sweater](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683638) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




End file.
